


Stay With Me

by PuzzlePie



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: ALL THE GOOD STUFF, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Comfort/Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Love Triangle, Lyrium Addiction, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23703139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuzzlePie/pseuds/PuzzlePie
Summary: - Cullen has a lot of sympathy for the prisoner-turned-savior-of-Haven… at least until she regains consciousness after the battle on the mountain and he discovers that she is one of the rudest, coldest, least pleasant people he has ever had the misfortune to meet, and he used to work with *Meredith.* Forget demons, darkspawn, and gaping holes in the sky, it's surviving the holy Herald of Andraste that he has to worry about. Maker help them all.- Tenebra never wanted to save the world, just one man in it. When an accident puts the fate of Thedas in the palm of her hand though, she has little choice. To add insult to injury, she is forced to work alongside Cullen Rutherford, a man she would rather punt off the side of a cliff than have a full conversation with.It turns out that the end of the world makes strange bedfellows after all...
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Cullen Rutherford/Original Female Character(s), Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Seeing as I have SIXTY FIVE PAGES of this fic in my Google doc, I feel like it may be time to start posting it? Not writing it in order though, so posting schedule will be weird. I'm leaving Archive warnings off because I'm not sure exactly where I'm going yet. There will definitely be Graphic Violence, definitely NOT be Underage, everything else is possible but not confirmed. However, if a chapter contains any kind of content that needs a warning, it will be plainly stated in the beginning notes and a safe-to-read summary will be included in the end notes. 
> 
> Fic is mostly canon with some detours to keep things interesting. Feedback very much appreciated, including suggestions for things to happen or questions to answer in later chapters.
> 
> EDIT: I am looking for beta readers! Got some parts coming up that I would love to run past someone before posting. I'm happy to trade off if anyone wants one of their fics read/constructively critiqued in return. Please PM if you'd be interested in such an exchange. :3

Cullen threw his shield up half a second before the jaws of the demon descended on him, filling its howling maw with steel and wood instead of flesh. His tired arms burned with the strain of its weight, but he braced himself and threw the thing off. As it scrabbled to its feet in the charred dirt, he brought his sword down across its neck. Immediately its body fizzled into a cloud of acrid green smoke, sucked away into the sparking rift behind it.

Cullen stopped moving only long enough to take a breath and assess the state of battle around him. Three men were down - dead or merely wounded he couldn’t tell - but the rest fought on with strength born more of desperation than courage. The ground boiled behind two of his soldiers, a sure sign that some new threat was emerging. Sparing no time on a warning, Cullen lunged forward, burying his sword in the shade’s head as it rose out of the ground. Pinned like a bug, it screamed and flailed against his legs before dissolving. No time to rest, more were already beginning to emerge. Maker, was there any end to them? They had been fighting for days, barely holding the line ever since the Conclave and everyone in it had gone up in flames.

For the first time in his life, it was as though the Maker heard his prayers. The spitting green hole above them suddenly made a noise like ice cracking and then, as inexplicably as it had appeared, it snapped back into nothingness. Cullen felt the burst ripple through him like a shockwave. The demons must have felt it as well, as for a moment all of the remaining ones froze in stunned confusion. A moment was all his people needed. Blades rose and fell, making short work of the remaining fiends before they were raised high with ragged cheers. In the distance Cullen could hear similar cries of triumph from other groups. The rifts were closed! 

But when he looked up, the sick-green hole in the sky itself still churned above the smoking remains of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Whatever had closed the rifts had not closed the Breach. 

“Get the wounded back to Haven.” he ordered, shouting to be heard over the cheers. “Oren, Alina, with me.” Both soldiers looked exhausted, but neither complained as they fell in behind their Commander. Cullen felt a surge of pride. Their force had been scraped together from the bodyguards of those who had died at the Temple, a few nearby mercenary companies, and every man and woman in the village of Haven who could hold a sword, but over the past few days they had held back an endless tide of demons. Bonds had been forged in blood and the brotherhood of combat. Cullen already thought of them as his men, and they followed him without hesitation despite the fact that few formal oaths of service had been taken. 

Heat still radiated from the ground just outside the Temple, melting the falling snow before it could land on the charred stone. He could feel it even though his thick boots. A few of the bodies were still burning, the fire slowly feeding on what little fat remained in them. Blackened and twisted, some still standing upright or kneeling, it was impossible to tell now whether they had been mages or templars or clergy. All had burned the same. Cullen steeled himself against the black smell of burnt flesh and headed for the break in the wall that led to the first rift. 

Figures emerged from the smoking rubble ahead of him. He recognized Cassandra first, her face stained with blood and sweat. She was walking with a limp and carrying a crumpled body in her arms. Instinctively, Cullen sheathed his sword and reached out for her burden, which she dropped into his arms with a relieved grunt. Cullen found himself looking down at the pale, unconscious face of a woman about his age. Ash-black hair framed her narrow cheeks and long jaw line, across which a chaotic sprawl of old scars stood out dark against her sallow skin, mostly concentrated on the right side of her face. Once upon a time her nose had been badly broken and it had healed slanting to the left with a scar across the bridge. She was wearing ill-fitting padded green armor that looked like it had been dragged through a swamp a few times and maybe set on fire once.

“Is this… the prisoner?” He’d heard someone was found in the ruins and brought to Haven for questioning, but hadn’t seen her himself.

“Not any more.” Cassandra said. She wiped her brow with her palm but only succeeded in smearing the grime around. “She’s the one that closed the rifts. She may be the only one who can.”

“So make sure you don’t drop her on her head, Curly.” Varric Tethra’s familiar voice came from somewhere near Cullen’s elbow. Cullen had rather mixed feelings about the charming dwarf with the incredible crossbow. On the one hand, he was damned useful in a fight. On the other, trouble seemed to follow him and his cadre of friends around like a sick puppy. It did surprise Cullen that the Champion of Kirkwall hadn’t shown up as well in the last few days - he could never recall seeing Varric without her before, and had assumed she was lurking nearby, waiting for some opportunity to jailbreak her friend out of Cassandra’s clutches. Awkward as that reunion would have been for him, they really could have used her here. 

One of the other soldiers offered Cassandra his shoulder, but the Seeker shook her head and gestured behind her. “I can get down the mountain by myself. There are others who cannot. Help them instead.” She strode forward while the rest of them followed, keeping her steps even despite what Cullen guessed must have been considerable pain. Trust Cassandra to treat a leg wound like a personal insult. “The Rift did not close without a fight and there are many wounded, but no more casualties. Still, we cannot let our guard down.” 

“She is right. If my theory is correct, it is only a matter of time before more rifts begin to open, and not just here. They will appear all across Thedas.” Ah, so the elven apostate was here as well. The man (Solar? Salos? Something with an S) seemed to fade into the background of most situations to a degree that made Cullen uncomfortable. Now he walked barefoot across the still-smoking ground towards them, carrying two staffs for some reason. 

“Then we will need  _ her _ on her feet again as soon as possible.” Cassandra said. 

“I’m sure she’ll be flattered by how much you care.” Varric muttered, earning him a disgusted look. 

“Closing the larger rift was obviously a great strain on her, but she does not seem to be injured.” Solas reassured them both. “With some rest, she should be fine. But it may not be possible for her to close the Breach on her own.”

“Who is she?” Cullen asked, shifting her a little in his arms to get a better grip. She was no lightweight, whoever she was, and he wasn’t entirely sure he could make it all the way back down the mountain with her. If he hadn’t spent the last Maker-only-knows how many hours fighting it would have been no problem, but his arms and back begged for an elfroot potion… or something stronger. Something to make  _ him _ strong. He pushed the thought away roughly.

“Said her name’s Tenebra.” Varric answered. 

“Tenebra Trevelyan.” Cassandra added over her shoulder. 

This caused both Varric and Cullen to stop dead in their tracks. 

“Trevelyan - like the Ostwick Trevelyans?” Cullen asked.

“Maker’s Ass.” Varric shook his head. “No wonder she looks familiar.”

“Apparently I’ve missed something.” Cassandra said, unimpressed.

“The Treveylans are Free Marcher nobility, closest thing to royalty in Ostwick, and you’ve been hauling one around like a sack of potatoes.” Varric explained to her. “I’m surprised you wouldn’t know that, Seeker. I thought all the noble houses in Thedas were related.”

“We probably are.” Cassandra responded icily.

Cullen peered down at the woman's battered, soot-smeared face again. He had honestly never seen a person who looked less like a high-born noblewoman - and that included Hawke. Whatever path her life had taken up to this moment, it hadn’t been a gentle one of luxury, and whoever had hurt her had left the evidence of that pain written plainly where she could not hide it. Cullen’s past was carved into his soul more than his flesh, but at least the whole world couldn’t see it at a glance. He felt an odd surge of sympathy for this stranger. Shifting again, he managed to rest her head protectively against the furred mantle of his cloak rather than his metal breastplate. He could get her down the mountain safely if nothing else, no matter how tired he was. He could do that much.

It was a long hike too, punctuated only by Varric’s occasional observations; the rest were too exhausted for conversation. They passed pockets of fighters nursing their wounds and joined with others trickling down towards Haven. Most looked at Tenebra with confusion, but sometimes Cullen caught the edges of whispered rumors in the air. “- closed it with a wave of her hand, just like that…” “- saved us, thought we were done for. Then she just appeared…” “- a woman behind her in the Fade, I heard it from one of the lads who found her, shining like Andraste herself…”

Reaching Haven was a relief, although the churning activity at the gates reminded Cullen of the dozens of things that would need his attention before he could rest. Getting reports from his captains, checking on the wounded, making sure guards and patrols were set for the night… but first, following Cassandra’s pointed direction to a little cottage just inside the gates while Varric and the elf set out to find the healer. 

He shouldered the door open to a plain but cozy single room. Someone had already lit a fire in the hearth and the warmth was welcome after the biting winds on the mountain paths. He carefully lay her down on the simple bed with a sigh of relief for his aching arms. One small task accomplished. 

As he stood to leave, however, her hand suddenly latched onto his, grabbing his fingers tightly. Her eyes were half open, unfocused, lost. Gray, he noticed, lighter at the center and then dark at the edges. “Jude.” she whimpered in a low voice so desperate and broken that it made his heart ache, “Stay with me.” 

“I will.” he said without thinking, then immediately wondered why he had when he was so sorely needed elsewhere. The answer seemed to satisfy her though. Her eyes closed again and her grip loosened with a contented sigh. Cullen laid her hand gently over her chest. 

He should have left then, but found himself lingering. Even if she wasn’t aware of him, even if he wasn’t the one she had called out to, it felt wrong somehow to leave her alone. So he stayed, at least for a few minutes, until Adan arrived with his satchel of herbs and grumpy scowl, shoo-ing Cullen back out into the cold.

\-------------------------------------

“She’s… not what I expected.” Josephine was saying with characteristic delicacy. “She’s…”

“Prickly?” Leliana offered.

“I was going to say ‘stand-offish’.” 

Cullen was silently in agreement. The first official meeting of their fledgling 'Inquisition' had been an enlightening and sobering look at the woman that people were now calling ‘The Herald of Andraste’. Stand-offish was a political way to put it. She had also been surly, sarcastic, skeptical, and sullen. Prickly, definitely. Cullen had heard of plants that grew in the far northern deserts which had no flowers or branches, just thorns on top of thorns. It seemed as apt a comparison for Lady Trevelyan's personality as any.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the telltale pinch of a headache blooming behind his eyes. As she was likely their one and only hope against what his reports increasingly suggested might be the end of the world, it didn’t exactly inspire confidence. 

She had entered their makeshift war room just behind Cassandra and taken a stand in front of their map table with her arms crossed. Her ragged green armor had been discarded in favor of a gray leather coat that fell to her calves, the unbuttoned front revealing a darker blouse and trousers. She was trimmer than he expected, now that she was out of the ill-fitting scavenged armor; tall for a woman, but with an unhealthy hollowness to her cheeks and throat that suggested she hadn’t seen a lot of good meals recently. If she was a member of the Mage Rebellion, as Leliana’s scant intelligence indicated, Cullen realized she had every reason to be nervous standing in the hall of a Chantry talking to both Hands of the Divine and an ex-Templar. Yet, she did not seem afraid. Her expression was impassive as her cool gaze swept the room, pausing for a moment on Cullen when Cassandra introduced him. For a split second he saw  _ something _ flit across her face, some thought or feeling that he had no time to analyze before it was gone, replaced by a flat-lipped stare that may as well have been carved from stone. 

She offered no pleasantries in return. Her first words were a question, direct and dryly sarcastic, and the rest of her responses followed suit, as if the whole meeting were just a waste of her precious time. The only emotion she exhibited throughout the entire discussion, besides barely-contained contempt for everyone present, was a slight tightening of the lips when Josephine spoke about the title their people had bestowed on her.

“How do you feel about it?” Cullen had asked, genuinely curious about her reaction. 

“If I were the Herald of Andraste, I think I’d know it.” was her cold reply, and that was that.

Later, Josephine would tentatively bring up the Trevelyan family connections, asking if Tenebra wanted any message sent to them confirming her safety, and whether they might be able to render any support to the Inquisition. 

“No.”

She did not elaborate.

When they were finished, she turned and left without any farewell, followed out the door by Cassandra’s disapproving scowl. Josephine was scribbling furiously at her notes, muttering about rescheduling the ‘more sensitive’ visitors for the days that the Herald was now to spend traveling the Hinterlands, hunting for a Chantry contact who had reached out to them. Leliana also seemed preoccupied, leaning over the table to pen a reply to her scouts to let them know who would be heading their way. That left Cullen to poke at the little markers on their map, nudging them this way and that as he sorted his captains to the surrounding passes. He had depressingly few markers to work with, for they had lost so many in the valley already. 

Feeling eyes on him, he glanced up to see Leliana watching him with an inscrutable expression. “And what do you think of our Herald, Commander?” There always seemed to be a laugh hidden somewhere in her musical voice, though Cullen rarely understood what she found so amusing. He sighed and scratched the back of his neck, trying to come up with an answer that was more optimistic than he felt. 

“I suppose… I’ve seen less likely people save the world before. I think we should give her a chance.” 

Leliana flashed him a knowing smile. “You and I both, Commander.”

\-------------------------------------

It wasn’t until Tenebra Trevelyan stepped out of the Chantry doors and felt the cold wind of Haven like a slap across her cheeks that she realized the pain in her hand was NOT coming from the needle-tickle-buzzing of the Mark. Drawing a slow breath, she looked down at her left hand and slowly uncurled her tightly-clenched fist. Her nails had dug four angry little red half-moons across her palm. She rubbed them with her thumb and hissed when green light sparked in response. 

As if this wasn’t all going to be hard enough already.

Maker’s breath, of all the people in Thedas to lead this cause, why  _ him?  _ Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition. Cassandra must have been scraping the bottom of the last barrel to recruit  _ him _ for the position.

Tenebra blew a frustrated sigh out of her nose, all too aware of the curious eyes that followed her as she walked. She could feel the people of Haven always watching, always judging, ready to turn on her the second she showed weakness - and they would, she was sure of that. Sure, she was the heroic 'chosen one' today, but yesterday these same people wanted to string her up for something she didn't even do. The Mark had gone from proof of her guilt to proof of the Maker's favor overnight, and Tenebra didn't think the second option was any more true than the first. Still, if letting the scared people believe she was holy meant she was less likely to be executed by an angry mob, then Tenebra wasn't going to try too hard to contradict the notion. She just hoped Andraste could forgive her the slight blasphemy-by-omission, under the circumstances. 

It wasn't that different from being in the Circle tower again, and she had fallen easily into her old survival mechanisms as a result. Show no fear, show no pain, show no anger, show nothing. Never answer a question that no one asked, never give more information than you absolutely had to. Those were the rules.

The only old rule she could ignore was the need to act polite and friendly at all times, at least among the council members and Cassandra. So long as they didn't know if the Mark could close rifts off of a severed limb, they were as stuck with her as she was with them, and she had no reason to suck up and pretend she liked them. The feeling was probably mutual and that was fine with her. 

She crunched through the snow towards her little cabin, barely acknowledging Varric's friendly wave as she passed. He wasn't so bad, really, but it didn't matter in the long run. She couldn't afford to get attached. The plan was simple: power up the Mark, close the breach, go back to hunting for Jude and never see any of these people again, the sooner the better. 

How hard could it be to save the world?


	2. Chapter 2

They planned to leave early the next morning and hopefully get out of the mountains by nightfall if the roads were clear and the weather held. Tenebra spent most of the day exploring Haven and familiarizing herself with important locations like the smithy and apothecary. She avoided talking to most of the residents though. It was deeply unnerving the way so many of them fell silent when she passed, watching her with awe. Whispers followed like ripples in her wake.

After diligently ignoring the attention for several hours, she decided against eating her early supper in the little tavern or by one of the roaring fire pits, and instead took her share of bread, roast meat, and a wedge of cheese and went for a walk.

Past the first gate, then the second, and as each wall retreated behind her, she found she could breathe a little more easily. No one stopped her, although a small part of her still expected it and she had braced herself against the possibility. Total freedom of movement was no longer a foreign concept after the past two years, but it was hard to let go of a lifetime of habit. The number of Templars roaming the village didn’t help. Many of them weren’t wearing their armor, but she could usually tell anyway. It was in their posture, the way they looked at her - awestruck, like the other villagers, but also wary. On guard. 

Not out here though. Past the tents, past the training grounds where swords flashed in the fading afternoon light. On a whim, she turned north to head up the road, then veered off to follow a small path into the woods. It led to a cabin, predictably, and she chose not to investigate on the off chance that it was occupied. Instead, she left the path and turned towards the lake. Although the forest was thick, she knew which direction it was. The churning green light of the Breach was a better navigating tool than any star. 

Soon, Tenebra found herself on the rocky northern shore of the lake. She scrambled up one of the smaller boulders and brushed off some of the snow to make herself a seat before she finally tucked in to her dinner. Everything was cold, but she was used to that, and it was better fare than what she often had to make do with. She ate and watched the sky. The Breach was simultaneously hard to look at, and also hard  _ not _ to look at. Like an open wound, it was repulsive in its wrongness, but also fascinating. Clouds swirled around it slowly. Were they being sucked in, or just pulled in circles? It was hard to tell.

She eventually tore her eyes away from the Beach; there were better things to see in the sky. The air was clear to the north, and it did not take her long to pick out the familiar stars of the Sword of Mercy, faint but visible even though the sun had not fully set and the sky remained a pale gray. It was lower here in the South than it had been up in Ostwick, something she had had to get used to.

“I wish you were here.” she said wistfully, "I guess I’m glad you’re not. You probably would have gotten burnt to a crisp like everyone else. Still, it would be so much easier, if I didn’t have to do all of this alone." She swallowed back a lump in her throat. "Where  _ are _ you? Are you okay? Are you even still alive?" The stars didn't answer, but right on cue, the Mark sizzled bright green on her hand. Tenebra scowled down at it, and the bread she had been holding. Was it safe to eat something after the Fade spit up on it?

So far, the Mark didn't seem to affect anything besides the rifts and her own body. The bread seemed unharmed, but Tenebra was no longer hungry. Nor was she in any rush to return to Haven. It was peaceful out here, with the forest blanketed in snow and the mountains like silent guardians all around. Despite the fact that her butt was getting pretty cold sitting on the rock, she thought she would stay for a while. 

Movement caught her eye in a nearby tree - a little bird had landed in one of the branches. Tenebra picked a bit of bread off her loaf and tossed it under the tree, and after a moment the little bird landed to peck at it. She threw another scrap. Two more birds joined the first. Bit by bit, she coaxed them closer with crumbs, until there were six of them about two arms lengths away. Closer than that, they wouldn't come, but they were near enough for her to see that they were brown with creamy throats and little orange spots on the backs of their heads. Some kind of wren, perhaps? They were hardy little things, at least, hopping around in the snow, so small and light that they didn’t even leave prints. Not much to look at, but tough enough to survive winter in the Frostbacks. She liked that. 

The sound of someone crunching through the underbrush sent all of them scattering to the tree tops in alarm. Tenebra sighed and twisted around to see the intruder, fully expecting Cassandra since the woman seemed to really like staying within stabbing range of her ex-prisoner. 

Instead, it was the Templar. 

Tenebra bristled. "Are you following me? Watching me?" she demanded indignantly.

"No - well, not like that!" Cullen raised his hands defensively as he approached the bottom of her rock. "I mean, I did follow you, and I did see you walking off earlier, but I'm not  _ watching _ you. I just noticed you leaving, and I realized you were gone for awhile, so I came out to make sure you were alright. That's all."

She snorted. The Knight Commander of Kirkwall, concerned for the well-being of a mage. Maybe the world really was ending. "Well, as you can see, I'm perfectly fine. Your concern is unnecessary."  _ As is your presence _ , her icy tone implied, with a heavy dose of  _ Fuck off _ thrown in for good measure.

He didn't take the hint. "It may be dangerous out here.” he said uneasily, looking out at the darkening treeline. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, cautious despite the quiet that surrounded them. Like he actually cared. Well, he probably  _ did  _ care about keeping the Mark attached to a living being at least, so maybe it wasn’t all a front. “We have patrols throughout the valley, but it's too wide an area for them to guard everywhere, and someone could slip past. It's much safer inside the walls."

"I suppose you'd prefer I stay locked up then, like a good little mage? For my own 'protection'?"

Cullen blanched. "I didn't mean -"

"I can take care of myself, Commander. I've been doing it for quite awhile now."

"Alright, alright." He raised his hands again, a gesture of mollification that left Tenebra decidedly un-mollified. "I just wanted you to be aware of the risk, I didn't mean to disturb you."

"And yet, you did." She stood and brushed the crumbs from her lap, dropping the last crusty bit of bread in the snow. Maybe the little birds would come back for it. "See you back at Haven." Turning, she slid down the other side of the rocks to the ice-covered lake and started the cold trek back to Haven's warm glow on the opposite side. She hoped that crossing the frozen water would discourage a person in heavy armor from following her. He didn’t, so either he was smart enough not to drown himself in a lake, or he had finally figured out that she wanted nothing to do with him. Tenebra didn't particularly care which, she was just glad to have a Templar-free return to her warm little cabin.

\-------------------------------------

The Herald and her companions were gone from Haven for ten days on their search for Leliana’s chantry contact in the Hinterlands. Reports came daily by their scout’s ravens, usually short missives in Cassandra’s tight script. 

“ _ Arrived H.Lands, met with Harding. Reports T & M fighting across area, refugees in need.”  _

_ “Scouting SW. H closed 2 Rifts. S claims Mark is stable.”  _

_ “Reached Crossroads at center of fighting. Dead: 15 T, 10 M, 2 Inq. Area secured. M.G. met, will return with us.”  _

_ “H insists on detour to SE to retrieve medicine from local cult for sick refugee. Advised against, ignored. Expect delay.” _

_ “Cult now worships H?? Will assist refugees. Returning to Crossroads with medicine, then to Haven. H ready to go to VR.” _

“I would very much like to hear the full story behind this one.” Leliana chuckled. She, Cullen, and Josephine had begun meeting nightly to debrief each other on all the day’s efforts as well as review the field reports. 

Cullen had to read the message a few times himself to make sense of it. If he hadn’t known Cassandra better, he might have thought she was joking. “I can’t tell if she’s impressed or annoyed. Maybe both.” 

“At least it seems the Herald has taken your request to expand the Inquisition’s influence seriously,” Josephine said hopefully, marking something in her notes. “...even if her methods are a little… unorthodox. We need all the allies we can find.”

“Including mad cultists in the middle of nowhere?” Cullen inquired.

“Better to have them with us than against us.” Leliana said lightly. She placed one of her own little raven-shaped markers on the map in the appropriate place. “I will send one of my agents to coordinate their efforts and… keep an eye on things."

\-------------------------------------

“Mage!” Varric shouted in warning. Tenebra immediately tore her attention away from the two armored men ahead of her, the ones Cassandra continued charging towards without hesitation. She spied the flash of a barrier through the brush nearby and gave a quick, silent thanks for the dwarf’s sharp eyes. Little escaped the keen observation of a writer, it seemed, even in the chaos of combat. 

She twirled her staff even as the cool reassuring tingle of their own barrier settled over her skin: Solas, quick to shield her as he knew full well by now that casting from afar was not exactly her style. It would almost be touching, the way he always protected her first, if she didn’t understand the cold logic behind the action. She was the most valuable person in the group, the most likely to be targeted and the only one who could not be replaced.

She grit her teeth into a grim smile as a swarm of flaming bolts erupted from the head of her staff, seeking the enemy spellbinder unerringly and dissipating with wet splatters against his barrier before it fizzled away. Solas’s protection was unnecessary and would have been better used on Cassandra - an argument for another time. The enemy mage was making quick, panicked gestures over his book as he tried to complete the invocation he began before his barrier fell. He would not be quick enough. 

She  _ stepped. _

It was the strangest sensation in the world, being temporarily unmoored from reality, somehow both out of control and perfectly focused at the same time. She didn't feel like she was moving, more like she was holding perfectly still while the rest of the world rushed towards her in a cold, silent blur. Branches and grass and stone slid beneath her and she didn't feel them. The enemy mage dominated her vision for less than a blink as he seemed to be pulled forward like a statue on a string, hand raised, mouth open around a word that would not come until this moment ended, his spittle hanging still in the air. There was a brief darkness when he passed through her, or rather, when she passed through him, as she was suddenly on the other side of him and the world snapped back into focus and he was choking on the ice crystals in his open mouth, white frost coating his skin and robes. 

Tenebra spun faster than instinct, reached out a hand to grasp at thin air, felt the cold that followed her through the man’s body like a tether to the Fade itself, clenched her fist and  _ pulled _ . The motes of frost became shards of ice, not piercing from the outside but exploding from within, frozen blood and muscle that ruptured the skin and shattered inside his veins. His previous motion to summon a storm was abandoned in favor of a desperate attempt at healing himself, but this, too, was not quick enough. Tenebra set her staff against his back and unleashed her barrage of fire again, this time all twelve bolts directly into the man’s unprotected spine. He fell forward without a sound. It had taken seconds. He never even had time to scream. 

Metal struck metal. Tenebra didn't think, only moved, only  _ stepped _ . Cassandra slid past her as if on a rail, her still, open mouth twisted in a furious battle cry. Tenebra passed through both men in one motion, came out on the other side and saw the surprised terror on the nearest one’s face, his skin blue with the blast of cold. A weak jolt of electricity flicked from her fingers and bounced between both of them. The larger man faltered in his swing and Cassandra swatted his sword aside with her shield as easily as shrugging before plunging her blade into his neck. The other made a desperate lunge towards Tenebra, but she merely

_ stepped _

back to where she had been a moment before, in the bushes beside the mage’s corpse. The last man whirled around in confusion and then staggered backwards, gurgling and clutching feebly at the bolt in his mouth before he collapsed.

There was a moment of stillness as the four of them surveyed the clearing, checking for any remaining threats while their adrenaline ebbed. Tenebra was slightly amused to see the pale glowing lines of glyphs spread out across the ground, none of them used. Solas dispersed them without ceremony. 

“You didn’t need to waste power like that, you know, there were only three of them.” 

“It is hardly a strain,” the elf replied calmly, “I shall be adequately prepared for any further encounters, if that is your concern.” 

“Still good to conserve energy if you can.” 

Solas nodded slightly. “Caution born of experience, I imagine? Is that why you prefer simpler spells yourself?”

_ So he had noticed.  _ Her grip tightened slightly on her staff, but she forced out a casual half-shrug. “Old habits. You know how it is.” 

“That I do.” His pale blue gaze was as unreadable as ever, and as usual Tenebra felt like she only understood half of what he was saying, as though his words were heavy with hidden meanings that only some third unseen member of their conversation was meant to understand. 

Varric provided a welcome distraction. “Damn, Frosty.” he muttered as he nudged the dead mage with his toe, feeling for a money pouch or any supplies hidden under the robes without needing to actually touch the body. The dead man’s back was a blackened crater of burnt flesh and twisted bone. “You know, it’s actually a little creepy how good you are at this.”

“Flatterer.” Tenebra smirked, bending low to search the mage herself. He did have a little pouch of coins, but otherwise nothing of value besides the spirit-bound book that Solas was already burning with grim satisfaction.

“You  _ are _ remarkably proficient, for one raised in a Circle.” Cassandra commented while she relieved the dead men of their half-decent equipment. Most of it was little better than scrap metal, but whatever could be used would be hidden in a cache for their people to retrieve later. Her voice was equal parts wariness and suspicion. Perhaps that was understandable since they hadn't known each other very long, had met while Tenebra was suspected of mass murder, and she admittedly hadn’t been very forthcoming with details about her past, but it still stung a little.

On this score at least, she had nothing to hide and spoke frankly. “They didn’t teach us to defend ourselves at all in the Circle, but you learn quick when a lot of people are trying to kill you.” She waited a beat, then added dryly, “Or they kill you.”

It was true, she had never cast a spell with the intention to harm anyone before the Ostwick Circle had fallen and its surviving members had scattered to the wilds. Tenebra had spent most of her life feeling helpless, useless, and trapped. Using magic to defend herself hadn’t even occurred to her the night of that ill-fated escape attempt, the night her own reflection had become a stranger to her. Weeks later she had broken her only mirror, small luxury that it was, and cried herself to sleep, little guessing that the greatest pain she had ever suffered in her short, sheltered life was only a prelude. She couldn’t help but resent that woman a little bit now, meek thing that she had been, too afraid to truly live and crying over something as superficial as how she _ looked _ . As if she'd had good looks to lose in the first place. As if she hadn't come terrifyingly close to losing so much more.

The first time she pulled ice through a man’s eyes and sent him blinded, screaming, stumbling like a drunk, it had been so effortless that it startled her. Something inside her slipped quietly into place, a feeling of rightness and confidence she had never lost since.  _ This. This is what I can do. Not healing. Not building. Not researching or teaching or growing. I thought I wasn’t good at anything, but I am. I am good at  _ **_this._ ** _ I was good at this all along and I just never knew. _

It was not a good thing to be good at, perhaps. But she was alive, and she was no longer afraid, and of the many regrets she carried in her heart, the trail of corpses behind her was not one of them. 

Causing pain, she did not enjoy. She had ended the blinded man’s life quickly, forming a heavy chunk of ice in her hand and bringing it down on his head as hard and as fast as she could, over and over again until she was only pounding mush, although the first blow had been more than enough to kill him. The other mages had to pull her away, and only then did she see that the bandits who had attacked them were all dead along with two of their own lost in the skirmish. That was the second time she ever killed a man, and far from the last, but it had definitely been the messiest. At least she hadn’t let him suffer. 

She had plenty of opportunities to hone her new talents in the two years after that. She got faster, more precise. A little ice, a little lightning - it didn’t take a lot of magic to end someone’s life, she discovered. A little spark to the right place on a person’s chest could be more effective than calling down a hurricane, even if it was less impressive to watch. Tenebra had no illusions that the way she fought was ‘merciful’. It was only quick and as painless as she could make it. She killed people, she was very, very good at it, and she liked that. The being good at it part, not the killing people part. 

Throwing her staff across her shoulders and hanging her wrists over it, Tenebra stepped over the body of the dead mage without a second glance. Once upon a time she might have said a little prayer, maybe even made an attempt at respectfully burying the bodies. These days it didn’t even occur to her. Maker knew there were too damn many people in this world who needed her time and compassion, that she had none left to spare for dead men who had tried to murder her. 

“Hopefully that’s the last of them around here.” she observed, surveying the area thoughtfully. “That hill might make a good place for one of those watchtowers Horsemaster Dennet asked for. What do you think, Cassandra?” The Seeker grunted in begrudging agreement. She was not pleased that they were still in the Hinterlands after her last report to the Inquisition had indicated they would already be on the road back by now. Tenebra was firmly of the opinion that it was her own fault for sending the raven without consulting the rest of their little party first (particularly Tenebra) about whether they were ready to leave. As Tenebra had been quick to point out, they did have a legitimate reason to remain. The Inquisition needed horses, and a horsemaster, and it would be better to recruit the man reputed to be Ferelden’s finest now, rather than later. Whatever delay was involved, they would more than make up for it with faster mounts in the long run. Eventually Cassandra agreed, or maybe just got tired of arguing about it. Then they found out that Horsemaster Dennet wouldn’t budge from his house unless they completed a series of miscellaneous mundane tasks for him first, and Cassandra had to excuse herself from the conversation, presumably to go bang her head against a post outside and/or plot a murder.

Varric pulled their map out of one of his coat pockets. “Good choice, there’s a clear view of the bridge from there. Assuming someone fixes it.” He marked the hill carefully, then looked up. “With these three locations, I’d say they’ll have every road and open field leading to the farms covered. They’ll see trouble coming from miles away. ”

“That should be more than enough to reassure the Horsemaster.” Solas commented. The elf had done a good job of maintaining his composure over the last two days, but by now even he was beginning to sound peeved. “Shouldn’t we be heading to Val Royeaux soon? The Breach will not close itself.” 

Tenebra sighed. The Hinterlands had been a surprisingly relaxing place to visit, for all that it was full of people who wanted to kill her on sight… and bears. The sweeping green hills and ivy-covered ruins reminded her of parts of the Trevelyan country estate when she was young. Although she’d had only limited experience with it, Tenebra had also come to appreciate the simple practicality of Ferelden culture. The cabins that dotted the landscape were small, but homey, and the abandoned ones that they had explored seemed filled with small touches that spoke to many generations using the same sturdy building - markings on posts for growing children going back decades, well-seasoned pots that probably dated back to the Imperium, wooden furniture worn to a smooth shine from so many hands. They built things to last and took good care of them, and yes, damn near everything she saw had some kind of dog motif, but that was part of the charm. She had no desire to return to Haven’s poor climate and poorer company, or to serve herself up on a silver platter for the clerics of Val Royeaux to peck at right afterwards. There didn’t seem to be any way around it though. 

“You’re right, it is time we started back. We should report to Dennet and stay in camp tonight, but we can set off in the morning with fresh mounts and make good time.” 

“Excellent.” Solas nodded, looking distinctly relieved. 

“Varric, let me see that map a moment - hmm, if we ford the river here, and if those letters we found are accurate, then we’ll be passing right by where the rogue Templar encampment is supposed to be. I bet we could eliminate that threat along the way, and it would only cost us a couple hours…” 

Cassandra made a disgusted sound. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Girl, get out of the Hinterlands!


	3. Chapter 3

Of course, the Herald's return to Haven had to perfectly coincide with Cullen breaking up a brewing public fight between the templars and mages who had survived the Conclave. Maker's Breath, if it wasn't one thing, it was surely another. Every day seemed to bring a new fight, and each was just further evidence of the fragility of the truces upon which the Inquisition was being built. Proving that point even further, only moments after Cullen had defused the first argument, Chancellor Roderick was on him like an angry hen. Cullen was resolved to at least _try_ to be diplomatic with the man. The Chancellor’s unwavering opinion that Lady Trevelyan was behind the explosion at the Conclave had left him with few supporters, but being the highest-ranking Chantry official left in Haven still meant something.

"...This is why we require a _proper_ authority to guide them back into order!" Roderick was shouting as the Herald approached them both, stalking through the snow with her fists curled and a scowl on her face, as grim as a vulture in her grey leathers. Roderick’s eyes widened when he saw her, but to his limited credit, he gave no sign of backing down. 

"I suppose you mean yourself," she scoffed, stepping up to the two men and crossing her arms, "-so you could see me in chains for murders I didn't commit?"

"So you would face the judgment you deserve! All of this should be in the hands of the new Divine, when she has been chosen. If you are innocent, the Chantry will establish it as so."

"Or use me as a scapegoat, to make the people believe the Chantry has _every-_ thing under control." she shot back sarcastically. 

"You think nobody cares about the truth?" Roderick drew himself up piously, "We all grieve Divine Justinia's death! We will all grieve so long as her murderer walks free!"

"But you won't grieve if the Herald of Andraste gets conveniently swept under a carpet." Cullen muttered under his breath. 

"Why haven't you been thrown out of Haven on your ass yet?" Tenebra asked Roderick bluntly, without acknowledging that Cullen had spoken at all.

"Because your Templar knows where to draw the line!"

"He's not 'my' Templar." she snapped, at the same time that Cullen said "I'm not a Templar anymore." Her attention switched to him for the first time, and again he thought he saw the faintest glimmer of some unnamed emotion behind her coldly skeptical gaze, gone before he could be sure he hadn't imagined it. 

"The Chancellor is toothless," he explained, choosing to brush off the fact that neither of them seemed to believe him, "So there's no point turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth. He's a good indicator of what to expect in Val Royeaux, however."

"A whole city full of toothless old nags? Oh, _joy_ . If I get gummed to death, I want it on record that I wanted to be doing something _useful_ with my time, instead of traveling halfway across Orlais to reason with the unreasonable."

Roderick tried to act like being offended was beneath his dignity, but didn’t quite manage it. "Mock, if you will. I'm certain the Maker is less amused."

"I will," Tenebra smirked, "And if the Maker doesn't like it, He can tell me so Himself."

On that acerbic note, she turned towards the Chantry, ignoring Roderick's renewed cries of blasphemy and judgment behind her. Cullen joined her just as the heavy wooden doors shut behind them and blessed silence reigned.

"Provoking him doesn't help, you know," he observed with a friendly chuckle to show he didn't mean the rebuke seriously, "Though I do understand the temptation. Josephine says I antagonize him too much myself."

"When I want your opinion on the way I conduct myself, I'll ask for it, _Commander._ " she spat, jerking the door to the War Room open and stalking inside without giving him a second glance. Cullen sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and reluctantly entered after her. Every single time he tried to offer her an olive branch, he got his hand bitten off. He wasn't sure why he had even bothered.

\-------------------------------------

Meeting with the Chantry clerics in the gleaming marketplace of Val Royeaux went almost exactly as badly as Tenebra predicted it would, not that anyone in the War Room at Haven had listened to her. Well, admittedly Cullen had shared some of her doubts, but… whatever. It didn't matter. What mattered was that her attempt to speak with the clerics about the Breach in good (if somewhat sarcastic) faith was met with such loud public accusations of heresy and mass murder that even Roderick would have called them over-dramatic. It was clear that the Chantry spokeswoman, Revered Mother Hevara, wanted a demonstration instead of a discussion. Tenebra felt like she had just spent several days on the road for a show she had already seen, but things took a turn when Mother Hevara tried to bare the last fang the Chantry had left. Spotting the timely approach of the leader of the Templar Order and his retinue, she commanded them to arrest Tenebra and her companions.

It could have ended in an ugly fight in the streets, but as it turned out, the only person who got hurt was Mother Hevara herself when one of the Templars sucker-punched her in front of the entire market. Apparently, the Order was done being ordered around. Tenebra knew better than to involve herself when the Chantry's once-loyal dogs were biting back. She _knew_ it was best that she stay out of it and not draw their attention. She knew…

"So this is what the mighty Order is up to these days? Assaulting unarmed Chantry Mothers and grandstanding? Are we supposed to be impressed?” her voice rang out loud and mocking over the horrified murmurs of the onlookers. 

"You are not supposed to be anything," the Lord Seeker sneered at her from the speaking platform, "You do not matter, and what impresses you matters less than that."

Cassandra made a valiant attempt to salvage the situation. "Lord Seeker Lucius, it is imperative that we speak--"

"You will not address me," he cut her off coldly, as he descended from the platform with his men. 

"Lord Seeker--?"

"You are a disgrace to our Order!" His raised voice was as much for the benefit of the watching crowd as it was for Cassandra. "Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste's prophet," ("Standing right here." Tenebra muttered.) "You should be ashamed! You should all be ashamed! The Templars failed no one when we left the Chantry to fulfill our sacred duty, but the Chantry failed us all, aiding the mages against us! Now, your paltry "Inquisition" would leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear!"

"Righteous?" Tenebra stepped forward, indignant. "You're nothing but a coward and a brute!"

" _Y_ _ou_ are less than nothing." he declared derisively, "Your false title may scare old women, but I will only laugh. The only destiny here that demands respect is _mine_."

"But, Lord Seeker," one of the Templars, a dark-skinned man with striking green eyes, spoke up, "What if she really was sent by the Maker? What if--?" Another Templar, the man who had struck Mother Hevara, silenced him quickly.

"She is irrelevant," the Lord Seeker said, still in his theatrically booming voice. Even the far side of the market would have no trouble hearing him. "I alone will shape the Templars into a power that will stand against the Void! We will have recognition! Independence! The Chantry is unworthy of our protection, as is her city. Let the people of Val Royeaux beg the Maker for forgiveness, for they will receive none from His Champions. Templars! We march!"

Their stomping boots were too loud in the stunned silence that followed - perhaps the first time in recorded memory that the citizens of the Orlesian capital were rendered speechless, if only for a minute before the chatter erupted even louder than before.

“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” Varric commented. Their little group seemed largely forgotten in the drama of the Templar exodus. 

“Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?” Cassandra asked incredulously.

Tenebra raised an eyebrow. “You mean he’s not normally a violent, unreasonable asshole?” 

"Pretty typical Seeker behavior in my experience." Varric muttered.

"No," Cassandra answered, throwing the dwarf a frustrated look, "he has always been a decent and honorable man, never given to ambition or grandstanding. This is very bizarre."

"Could he be possessed?" Tenebra asked.

"Impossible. Seekers cannot be possessed by demons, our vigil prevents it."

Tenebra watched the Templars marching through the gates in neat rows, the whole city's worth of them filing out in a grand procession. 'Subtle' clearly wasn't the goal. The people of the capital gathered in small groups to see them leave, their huddled bodies betraying the fear that their impassive Orlesian masks obscured. "So maybe he has gone mad, like you said - and the Templars are just going to follow his orders? No matter how insane?"

"They have all sworn an oath to do so." Cassandra said wearily, "But some may still be able to be reasoned with, and others will feel their oath to protect is greater than the oath to obey. We must hope that is the case, at least."

Glancing back, Tenebra could see the Revered Mother still crumpled on her speaking platform, clutching her head as her underlings flapped and fussed around her like a pack of headless hens. No matter what the old woman had accused her of, the sight made her seethe. Unarmed and attacked from behind, and not a single Templar had stood up for her - even the green-eyed man who seemed to have doubts had fallen in line with the rest. "I hope you're right, Cassandra. But I also hope that any of them who feel that way are smart enough to watch their backs. I'm worried for…"

She trailed off, lost in a thought, chased by the gnawing fear that was always quietly working its way through her gut. Her mind was so far from the sparkling streets of Val Royeaux that she didn't even notice Solas speaking to her until he repeated himself. "Worried for what, Herald?"

"Nothing." Tenebra brushed her hair back from her face and snapped back to the present moment with forced cheerfulness. "Well, it looks like we're not going to be lynched today after all. Might as well get some shopping done, right?"

\-------------------------------------

“If I might have a moment of your time?” a musically Orlesian accent called out from behind them as they made their way towards the gates of the market while the sun was getting low. The four companions turned to see an elven woman in long blue robes stepping out of one of the alcoves that lined the avenue. Her bright green eyes fell on Tenebra and her cautious expression broke into one of warmth and recognition. 

“Fiona?” Tenebra exclaimed in disbelief, “I thought you died at the Conclave!”

“I thought the same of you!” the Grand Enchanter laughed, approaching with open arms. “I am rarely so pleased to be proven wrong.” The two women embraced quickly before Tenebra stepped back to make introductions. 

“Fiona, this is Cassandra Pentaghast, Varric Tethras, and Solas, all members of the Inquisition. Everyone, Grand Enchanter Fiona.”

“Leader of the Mage Rebellion.” Solas observed, “Is it not dangerous for you to be here?”

“As dangerous as it is for you, no? When I heard of this gathering, I wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes. I had to confirm that she was who they said she was, and I could trust no second hand reports.” She looked Tenebra up and down, her gaze lingering on her left hand. The Mark was quiet, for once. Tenebra squeezed her hand into a fist reflexively all the same. “I suppose it is not, then, a mistake? It _is_ you that they are calling Andraste’s Chosen?”

“That was not my idea, believe me.” Tenebra snorted, crossing her arms.

“I could have guessed that myself. I seem to recall that you were no fan of titles, my friend.” Fiona’s eyes crinkled at the corners while her tone implied a private joke. Tenebra responded by rolling her eyes and shrugging dramatically. 

“You were right, you were right, some things are inevitable. But I don’t think you can take any credit for predicting it would happen like this. At least, I hope you can’t!”

“I was not aware that you were already acquainted with the Herald...” Cassandra interrupted suspiciously.

“Acquainted!” Fiona sounded amused. “Why, Tenebra used to be one of my personal bodyguards. I am surprised she did not tell you.” 

“It was only for a short time.” Tenebra scowled, avoiding the Seeker’s glowering gaze as she realized, suddenly, how this probably looked. “I didn't think it was that noteworthy.” 

“You are _far_ too modest.” Fiona patted her fondly on the arm, before leaning towards the rest and dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “She saved my life twice, you know.” she informed the others with a serene smile.

“ _Did she now_.” Cassandra ground out between her teeth.

Non-mages did not possess the power to set people on fire with their eyes, but Cassandra seemed to be making a valiant attempt at it, and Tenebra was certainly starting to feel heat on the back of her neck. She tried to move the conversation to a safer topic before the Seeker had an aneurysm. “I take it you observed the exchange in the marketplace, Fiona. What are your thoughts on the situation?” 

“My thoughts are simply this: that if it’s help with the Breach you seek, why look further than your fellow mages? Lucius hardly seems broken up over his losses, if he’s concerned about them at all. He is not interested in peace, or what is best for mages and non-mages alike, only control. You know that we in the Rebellion are not like that. We _want_ to help.” Tenebra stiffened as the Grand Enchanter laid a hand on her upper arm. “Consider this an invitation to return to Redcliffe, _ma cherie._ Let us start fresh. An alliance could help us both, after all.”

“It’s probably not my call, I’m not really in charge.” Tenebra dodged, stepping aside to put a little distance between herself and the other woman. “But I’ll make sure that the Inquisition leaders know that the mages are open to it.”

“That is all I ask. I hope to see you again soon, ‘Lady Herald’. _Au revoir_ , and be well.” Fiona gave a small bow before walking away. 

Tenebra could _feel_ Cassandra fuming behind her while they watched the Grand Enchanter leave, and sure enough, she barely waited until Fiona was out of earshot before unleashing her fury.

“YOU are on a first-name-basis with the leader of the Mage Rebellion, and you did not think this was ‘noteworthy’!?”

“Look, it’s complicated.” Tenebra growled, hunching over her crossed arms and looking at the ground. She really, really wished that Fiona had been a little more discreet. Or had she been flexing their connection on purpose? “I'm really glad to see she’s still alive, but we weren't on the best of terms when I left. I honestly just didn’t want to talk about it.”

“And what other vitally important pieces of information do you just ‘not want to talk about’? What else have you been hiding?” Cassandra demanded.

Tenebra exploded. “You have the Divine’s spymaster combing through my whole life’s history! How in the Void should I know what’s still hidden or not?” she shouted, her balled fists crusting over with spikes of ice at her sides. “Do you want an indexed report for every year of my life? Names and dates of all my sexual encounters? A list of every person I’ve ever farted next to?”

“Maybe so, if any of them are leading one of the sides in the war we are trying to stop!”

“Easy, easy!” Varric put himself between them with his hands up, a brave act given the daggers they were glaring at each other. “Maybe we shouldn't be doing this right in the middle of Val Royeaux?" he suggested smoothly.

“He’s right.” Cassandra said after a beat, sounding utterly disgusted to have to admit that under any circumstances. “We _will_ continue this discussion later.” She turned with a huff and stomped her way through the gates.

Tenebra trailed behind her, feeling mutinous. “Oh goody, can’t wait.” she grumbled.

\-------------------------------------

As it turned out, they did not come back from Val Royeaux completely empty-handed after all, having gained the support of two influential women from two unexpected - and very different - organizations. 

Sera of the Red Jennies struck a chord with Tenebra immediately. The impish, irreverent young elven woman was as quick with a bow as she was with a laugh, and Tenebra needed the latter even more than the former. By the time their small party had returned to Haven, Varric had been kind enough to record (and occasionally participate in) a number of competitions between them on the road. 

  * **Most dirty jokes told:** Sera (17), Tenebra (10), Varric (12) 
  * **Loudest belch:** Sera
  * **Loudest raspberry:** Tenebra
  * **Best at Wicked Grace:** Varric
  * **Farthest walked in a straight line after five shots of Butterbile:** Tenebra
  * **Best prank story:** Sera
  * **Best/worst fake Orlesian accent:** Tenebra
  * **Worst singing voice:** (Originally supposed to be ‘best’ singing voice, this one ended in a tie when Solas and Cassandra demanded an end to the contest for fear of attracting wolves.) 
  * **Biggest stick up the ass** : Cassandra, with Solas as a close runner up



Cassandra did not approve of any of it, and had spent the majority of the journey back to Haven ‘riding ahead’ with a sour expression. For Tenebra though, she found herself actually enjoying someone's company for the first time since she had woken up under the Chantry in chains. It was a wonderful change of pace.

First Enchanter Vivienne, their second surprising new recruit, was Sera’s opposite in every conceivable way. They had met the elegant woman at a grand chateau filled with members of the Orlesian nobility, rather than in a dark alley surrounded by pants-less mercenaries. Her promised influence in the Court, renowned skill as a mage, and position as the defacto ‘leader’ of a large portion of the mages who had not joined the Rebellion all made her a powerful ally, and she promised to join them in Haven within a fortnight. “I would come right away, my dear, but I’ve a few things to attend to first. Rest assured, they are to our mutual benefit. The Breach is a threat to all of Thedas and it is of the highest priority, but so long as it is stable, we must not rush ourselves. This must be done right.” 

Tenebra was more charmed and impressed by Vivienne than she cared to admit. Any mage who could live so freely while holding her own among the Orlesian elite deserved a good deal of respect. 

It was not until they returned to Haven and were reporting the details of their encounters to the council that Tenebra stopped to wonder what exactly Vivienne meant by 'done right'.

\-------------------------------------

"She is the most… stubborn… frustrating… impossible… woman… in… Thedas!" Cassandra punctuated each word with a swing at her training dummy, and Cullen winced as he heard wood splinter. He made a mental note to tell Quartermaster Threnn they would need to replace the equipment ahead of schedule. Again.

"I'm sorry." he said sincerely, hefting his own dulled practice sword and aiming for a straw-filled neck. "Is she really that bad?"

"Hmph!" Cassandra lunged forward, sweeping her blade in a wide arc before springing lightly back on the balls of her feet. She was as nimble in a full set of heavy armor as an acrobat in silks, and Cullen had always wondered how she did it. He was considerably skilled himself, but training next to Cassandra tended to make him feel like a plodding turtle by comparison. It was good to be humbled occasionally though, and he valued her company and conversation on the rare mornings he had it. He had built a good rapport with several of the men and women in their forces by now, but it was not the same as companionship with someone of equal rank. In these early hours while the rank and file were at mess and they had the training grounds to themselves, it was nice to set aside the burden of command for a little while. Cassandra seemed to feel the same way, or maybe she just appreciated having a sympathetic audience when it came to discussing the biggest thorn in both of their sides.

She wiped her forehead with the back of her gloved hand, holding the sword like it weighed nothing. "It is like herding a cat. The woman cannot go from one place to another without being distracted. Every time anyone we meet says they have lost something, we end up spending half a day hunting it down for them. Family heirlooms, lovers, relatives, pets…"

"Pets?" _Thwack! Thunk! Thwack!_ went his sword against the dummy. 

"Do not get me started on the drufallo." she said darkly. "I am convinced she would walk to Denerim for a missing badger. And there is nothing I can do about it, short of tying her to a horse. Which I _have_ considered. Your right is open."

"Thank you." He adjusted his stance for the next drill, frowning at his own discomfort. It felt like his arms got a little tiny bit heavier every day, his reflexes just a little tiny bit slower. He had suspected that his form was suffering as a result; Cassandra had just confirmed it. Pushing his misgivings aside, he forced himself to hold proper posture as he swung again. Better, this time.

"There is something else too." Cassandra was saying, "I believe her ties to the Mage Rebellion go far deeper than we thought."

That made him pause and lower his blade, throwing her a confused look. "Leliana did say she used to be one of them, but that she broke with the group several months before the Conclave. And her name was not included in the records of their delegation…"

Cassandra frowned. "Yes, we thought that was the extent of it, but apparently she knows Grand Enchanter Fiona personally. When we met at the capital, they greeted each other as friends. I believe they may have traveled together for awhile, and the Herald may have even worked under her directly."

"You didn't mention this during the report yesterday."

"No. I thought it would have been ill-advised to bring it up with the Herald present. When I confronted her at the time, things became… heated." Cassandra looked away uncomfortably and then sighed. "I admit, I may have… not handled it well. I fear I am more used to interrogation than conversation these days. I already told Leliana and Josephine last night."

Cullen nodded, thoughtful. It made sense that he hadn't been present for that discussion - space at Haven was limited with the pilgrims and volunteers who seemed to show up daily, so the three female members of the council had elected to bunk together in a single room at the back of the Chantry. "What did they think?"

"They think it could be a _good_ thing. Leliana said she may be able to get answers to some questions we have about the Rebellion's leadership, as none of her infiltrators have gotten that close to the top ranks. Josie believes this could make it easier to secure an alliance, especially since the Herald's endless errand running has built up our reputation among the people.” She scowled. “At least all of these delays are good for _something._ "

Cullen looked at her bleakly, knowing that Cassandra had the same foreboding feeling that he did. It had become clear that the Inquisition would need to extend an offer of alliance to either the Templars or the Mages if they were to close the Breach, to either suppress the thing into a manageable state or pour enough power through the Mark that it didn't matter. The four members of the council had been debating the matter for weeks. Leliana strongly favored going to the Mages, and had convinced Josephine to support it as well, while Cullen felt that suppression with the aid of the Templars was the safer choice in more ways than one and Cassandra had come to agree with him. Between the Lord Seeker's behavior in Val Royeaux, the open invitation to Redcliffe, and Tenebra's apparent personal connection to the Grand Enchanter, it seemed that the scales had tipped at last. 

"I know." Cassandra said, echoing his thoughts in her defeated tone. She turned back to her practice dummy with renewed focus. "It seems we should prepare ourselves to accommodate more mages soon."

More mages. More magic. Cullen swallowed against the dread that now sat heavy in his gut, trying to rationalize it away. There was no reason to think Haven would become another Kirkwall. No reason to think it would become another Kinloch. Things were different now.

 _Nothing is different except_ **_you_** _, because you're even more weak and vulnerable now than you were before. How will you protect them without the power to even protect yourself? Everything you need is in that little box under the mattress…_

No. It would not come to that. Cullen attacked his dummy with fresh intensity, letting his fears fuel each strike as if he could use them up and burn them away. 

Somehow, his arms felt heavier than ever.


End file.
